Child's Gift
by MistressOfRobins
Summary: It has been years since Wayne Manor celebrated Christmas, but when Bruce Wayne accepted Dick Grayson into his home the holiday returned. Now he needs the perfect gift for his boy, while trying to hide his Batman secret. Family fluff. Part of Child Series.


**Info: **This is _not_ set on Earth-16 canon verse. It's my own little universe and is the third part of what I have called "The Child Series." The other two are named: "Child's Mind" & "Child's Play". Please do read those as well.

**Note: **In the canon YJ universe Bruce would have been 23 when he first took in Robin, which wouldn't have made him very experienced in the Batman field, nor would it have made sense that he knew the Justice League as well as he does.

I have therefore aged him up in this universe so when Robin is 13 Bruce is 38, meaning that when Robin is now 4, Bruce is 29 and has been the Batman since he was 20. He has been with the League for 5 years.

* * *

><p><strong>Child's Gift<strong>

* * *

><p><span>Gotham City, 2002<span>

Wayne Manor had, for twenty one years, never _once_ lit a Christmas light, nor taken in a Christmas tree. When Christmas occurred Bruce Wayne would either lock himself away – in his younger days. Later on, he would stay down in the Batcave, his eyes alert for any sign of crime that he could use as an excuse to head out. Alfred Pennyworth, despite not agreeing how his master had shunned what was supposed to be a jolly holiday, understood and had left it alone.

The butler had, however, enjoyed himself by making traditional Christmas pastry, but he never made a lot. He was most aware that Bruce would not eat it and if there was something Alfred Pennyworth made sure to prevent was food going bad in the manor. Needless to say, the Christmases in the Wayne household had drastically disappeared after the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Consequently, Bruce had not expected to wake up to the fresh smell of baked gingerbread and hearing light Christmas carols being played Monday, December 1. For a brief moment Bruce let himself stay silent, his ears picking up the music and his nose adapting to that smell which brought so many memories, both painful and good. He then tossed his duvet to the side and proceeded doing his morning routine. However, it was rushed. The only moment he slowed down was when he shaved, and then he exited his bedroom.

"Alfred!" he called instinctively. To be frank, he was not sure what he was going to do when he found his butler. It had always been an unspoken rule that they stopped celebrating Christmas after his mother and father died. That the butler made some cookies now and then he had allowed, but Alfred had left out gingerbread and definitely the Christmas carols.

Bruce Wayne wasn't the guy to panic, nor was the Dark Knight, really, but something quite similar to just that was sneaking up on him. It was that intense need to turn everything off – he didn't want to remember, didn't want to start reminiscing. He was about to call Alfred once more, demand an explanation, but when he ripped the door open a different view than expected met him.

"Daddy!"

It had come to Bruce's attention that maybe every father should be trained in martial arts, exactly when having hyperactive sons. It was thanks to his training that he had a second to brace himself for the impact. He therefore managed to stand on his feet when Dick W. Grayson flung his arms around his father's neck, hugging tighter than a meant a four-year-old should.

Then again, Dick was no ordinary four-year-old. He was the son of the Flying Graysons, thus a natural talent when it came to acrobatics. Not only that, but the boy was extremely intelligent. Bruce had not felt it was right to put him in school just yet. However, when he did, he doubted he'd be surprised if it was suggested for him to move up a couple of grades.

He was just a natural in so many different subjects, especially math where he already had the basics completely nailed in. Yes, even though he was just a little four-year-old. Indeed Dick W. Grayson was Bruce's pride and joy, no matter how much the grumpy Bat had tried to ignore so when he first took the boy in.

"Richard," Bruce spoke, pulling the ebony haired child lightly away, but yet he was resting in his father's arms, small legs wrapped lightly around the Caped Crusader's torso. "What's going on here?"

"Alfred's making gingerbread! Oh and we made _you_ something too!" Dick looked so excited. The thrill was beaming up his face to an extent Bruce swore he had never seen before. True enough, he had only been with the boy for about seven months, but Dick was so open. Well, at least around _him_, something he was thankful for every day.

The boy wriggled in his embrace and Bruce let him down onto the floor where he instantly tugged on the billionaire's arm. He let himself be escorted to a corner of the Wayne Manor kitchen. Bruce's dark eyes landed on something that looked like a mobile* made by a light stick that had many strings hanging down from it. The strings were attached to something that looked like small rolls of paper.

Then Bruce noticed the sloppy writing on each of the paper rolls. Numbers.

He'd heard of this kind of Christmas tradition, but never experienced it on his own. It was not that widespread, at least not in Gotham City. Dick, however, had travelled the world before Haly's Circus settled for America only. The boy therefore, without a doubt, had picked up some habits throughout his short, young life.

"There!" Dick pointed, tugging on Bruce's bathrobe with a brilliant grin. "You have to take number one and open it!"

Reluctantly, Bruce did as told but purely due to the overjoyed face his adoptive son was flashing up toward him. Dick looked so happy, his face beaming and his hands practically shaking in anticipation. As the Wayne heir unfolded the piece of paper Dick was tugging on his pant-leg, slightly bouncing one and again.

It was a drawing – a well-made one of a gingerbread man, who was waving at him. Underneath, Dick had written with small sloppy letters: "Twenty Three Days Left!". Seeing that young, inexperienced handwriting complete with the drawing made Bruce's heart leap. Inside a the new kind of sensation – the one he was still getting used to – roamed.

Happiness.

"Do you like it?" Dick asked eagerly. "It's an a-advent calendar! When we travelled the circus had one just like this! My mommy and daddy liked it then, so I thought you'd like it too, Daddy!" Pointing his finger, the boy continued: "But you can only open one each day! Promise?"

Happier than he'd felt in a long, _long_ time, Bruce reached out and ruffled the boy's ebony haired locks. "I… I love it Dick, thank you and I promise," he said, it was hoarse and very quiet in an attempt to hide how touched he was, but Dick didn't notice the peculiar use of voice. Instead, the raven-haired boy grinned and then skipped over to Alfred, enquiring loudly about how the Christmas pastry was doing.

Bruce was left, looking at the advent calendar for a moment, before he let a very soft smile spread across his lips. He truly wondered how he'd let himself get so attached to this ray of bubbling sunshine and energy, but he was just… _so happy_. It was unusual for the Batman, and not as normal for Bruce Wayne either, but now it was getting more common. It was a drastic, abrupt change, but the feeling inside of him was pleasant. _Very_ pleasant.

"Daddy, come on you have to help making gingerbread!"

For the first time in years, _so many years_, Christmas was coming to Wayne Manor.

**-o-**

Dick W. Grayson had waited anxiously for snow during the weeks toward Christmas. Every morning when Bruce or Alfred came to shake him awake the kid would practically leap across the floor and over to the window. His little, joyful face always fell, however, due to the lack of white snowflakes. It really hurt Bruce to see his little boy so disappointed. Yet, even a billionaire who was more than willing to grant Dick everything he desired that required money, could not bring him snow. That was up to Mother Nature.

Speaking of _granting_; to say that Bruce was having his difficulties with getting used to Christmas returning to the manor was an understatement. He had gotten Alfred to send out what was required of the famous billionaire from Gotham for years, but now he had _Dick_. His precious boy who reminded him every day that he had plenty of reasons to live.

What could he possibly give the boy for Christmas? He refused to just go into a random toy store to get his boy something. A wonderful child like Dick deserved something special, something big and something that would grant him much more than a _toy_ ever could. Nevertheless, he was empty, and so was Alfred. Dick was such a good kid; he would be happy for anything, really, with the exception of Barbie Dolls maybe.

Those weren't exactly on the young acrobat's wish list.

Unbeknownst to the Batman Dick was having the same sort of troubles. The billionaire had excused himself, saying he had some business to do, so Dick was left on his own, frustrated with himself because he couldn't come up with _anything_ for his beloved father figure.

Sighing, the kid looked at his feet. He was seated in the sofa in the living room where he was unnaturally quiet. Alfred had come in minutes ago to check on him, just to make sure the boy was actually _breathing_. The four-year-old glanced up in the roof, his lips pursed as he frowned deeply. Bruce was rich. If he wanted something he could just go out and _buy_ it, so what could Dick possibly do to give him an amazing gift? He already received the drawings he'd made due to his calendar, so giving him a drawing was out of the question.

The young child tried to think of what he was simply _good_ at, which was mostly acrobatics – Bruce said he had to be the youngest human that possessed such a talent. Yet, the four-year-old didn't think he could use that in any way.

As Dick pondered he got tired of sitting around. He liked to move – it lay in his Grayson blood – and therefore started venturing the manor as he tried to come up with a decent idea. As he wandered about, he briefly wondered why Bruce wasn't here with him. He would have taken the car if he was going to work and he had already embraced his Christmas break. So where had his Daddy gone off to?

Dick usually tried to ask Alfred where Bruce went, and especially so now that Christmas was approaching. This was his first time celebrating the holidays at Wayne Manor. Therefore, he was sort of afraid that Alfred would come to him at Christmas Eve for only to tell him that Bruce was too busy to make it. Truthfully that was the most frightening thing Dick could imagine at the moment.

He missed his first daddy and his mommy and the thought of being alone with just Alfred – no matter how much he loved the butler – on Christmas Eve was just unbearable. Dick trusted Bruce though. The billionaire had promised that Christmas Eve, December 24th would be spent just the two of them (and Alfred) together. No interruptions by work or other forms for business.

And, it was the 'other sort of business' Dick tried to understand. It seemed to be an unpredictable one. The kid's great ingenuity had always been highly underestimated. So, Alfred and Bruce had not once considered that Dick had picked up upon the usual pattern Mister Wayne's work included. Besides, whenever he got called in for work someone would actually _call_ on his phone, but whenever he 'unexpectedly' had to go the phone would beep.

Dick was certain that Bruce didn't go to the Wayne Industries when that phone beeped, but _what_ he was doing the four-year-old had yet to understand. He just hoped his daddy wasn't downright _ignoring_ him. That would break his little heart.

The boy twirled, then took a leap, lost in his own thoughts as he made his way through the corridors of the manor. He then headed into Bruce's private lounge, which was not too far from the living room, but a bit cosier due to the crackling fireplace and the shelves filled with books. Dick looked around; his eyes landed on the Christmas decorations he and Alfred had taken the liberty of placing around the room.

Then he glanced at the picture on the wall. It was of Bruce's parents, Martha and Thomas Wayne. Dick remembered the first time he had asked Bruce about how they looked like and the billionaire had escorted him to this room; he had taken him on his shoulder as they glanced up at the Wayne heir's deceased parents. The big, framed photograph was beautiful, and Dick thought it made Bruce feel closer to his parents in some way.

Photos always helped; Dick had one himself that he looked at every night. However, it was a lot smaller.

His eyes landed on the grandfather clock in the room as it signalised that it was nine O'clock. The light chime from the clock echoed through the room, causing Dick to smile a bit. He then walked up to it, studied the clock with a mild interest. Everything in the manor was so old and fancy – not like the circus.

It was something he had yet to adjust to, but he did like this clock. Big and shiny.

As the boy let his eyes sweep over it, he suddenly noticed something. The glass door shielding the pendulum was slightly let open, which was rather unusual. After all, Alfred always made sure that everything was nice and tidy. He tilted his head curiously to the side, and then reached out to gently open the door. The pendulums went from one side to the other, left right, left right.

It made Dick grin. Without really thinking over that he could damage the clock, the child reached out and grabbed one of the weights. He let go of a yelp, losing his balance as the clock _moved. _The acrobat landed on the floor with an 'umph', eyes going wide as he saw the clock rise from the ground.

Behind it was a passage.

"_Cool_," the young boy uttered, eyes wide.

He staggered to his feet, not the least reluctant to enter. What he hadn't expected, however, was for the entrance to close behind him. He abruptly turned, ready to scream for help, but he never got to it. It was like an elevator. It moved downwards until two metal doors flashed open, revealing something that made the young child's eyes widen – and that far more than he could ever remember them doing.

It was a cave, lit up by the light from a big screen, complete with a half-circular keyboard. It was so big and the little four-year-old found himself staring and staring. A big penny, a _dinosaur_, a giant Jack-in-the-Box… Where did all these things _come from_? And this cave… it was pampered with devices, metal plates preventing people from falling down into the abyss. Dick's wondrous eyes kept wandering, but were interrupted when a roaring engine sounded through the cave.

Quickly, Dick looked for a place to hide and resorted to skip behind the computer banks. There he crouched down, barely peeking from behind it. He heard the engine stop, perking his curiosity greatly, but he didn't move. He listened as his heart beat fast inside his little chest; he felt partly scared and yet oddly excited.

It was then he saw him. The Batman, in all his cloaked, dark glory.

Dick didn't know what to say. He found himself just staring and staring as the Dark Knight himself stepped in front of the big computer stored in the cave. He got a flashback of the day where his mom and dad had fallen to their deaths, all due to a guy named Tony Zucco who had made it _look_ like an accident. Bruce had told him the Batman had taken the crook in. The hero had made sure that his parents' killer was taken.

Hesitantly, Dick moved from behind the computer banks, his eyes purely resting on the Bat who had yet to notice his presence. He eyed the clenched jaw of the Batman, his pursed lips. There was something familiar about that jaw… And why would the Batman insert himself in a cave underneath his Daddy's house?

Unless…

"Daddy?"

His small, young voice echoed through the cave. Batman's shoulders tensed by the sound, before the hero abruptly turned. The eyes, that appeared white due to the cowl, widened by the sight. Dick felt unsure, because he wasn't completely certain this truly was his adoptive father. But who else could it be? Even for a four-year-old it was suspicious that Bruce Wayne of all people had the Batman's cave underneath his house.

The Batman walked closer, his shadow falling over the young boy whose eyes were big with wonder. "Daddy?" he repeated, frowning worriedly. He felt a bit frightened not _knowing_ what was behind that cowl.

However, he soon got the answer. Batman reached out and pulled the cowl over his head. And Dick's face brightened.

It was Bruce Wayne.

"Dick…" The dark haired male frowned.

"Yo-you're _Batman_."

And Bruce sighed. His secret was out.

**-o-**

It was understandable that it took Bruce some time to get used to the idea that Dick knew of his secret. He had such mixed feelings about letting Dick know of his dark, hidden life. A part of him was happy. His boy now knew everything about him, what he was – _who _he was. Ergo: everything. Well, as much as a four-year-old was able to understand at the time. Yet, there was this big part of him that wanted to shield Dick from everything that involved the Batman, the Caped Crusader.

How this would turn out he would patiently wait to see. At the moment he had his mind wrapped around the Christmas holiday, and the crimes (for Batman), parties, charity events and so forth that came with. Bruce made sure to take Dick with him when he could, just so the boy would not feel alone and was assured that they would still spend Christmas together. Nothing would change that.

Before the billionaire had time to grasp it, Christmas Eve was here. Dick had, of course, been the first thing that met him in the morning. The child had bounced straight into his bed, more eager than ever to get Bruce's devoted attention. He flung his arms around the hero's neck, giggling happily as he kept saying: "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!"

Bruce was just happy that the sorrow of not having his parents present wasn't consuming Dick. The boy deserved to have a happy Christmas, which was mostly why Bruce decided that for once he would get up early for his son's sake and not an incident involving Wayne Industries.

"Daddy, come on! Come on! It's _snowing_."

Ah, this explained the-more-than-expected hyperactive gleam radiating from the young boy. Whilst he stifled a yawn, Bruce got out of bed. While he was still half-asleep Dick had guided him through the manor and he didn't completely realise what was going on until the moment his son held up his deep, red mittens. "Can you pull them on?"

It also dawned on him that Richard had already dressed himself. Quite fast too.

Bruce was glad the Batman was taking a day off, because he was far too unfocused for it to be safe in the field. His mind was on Richard and the fact that he _still_ hadn't completely figured out what to give the little boy tomorrow. Toys he could get anytime he wanted; it had to be something special.

After Dick had been completely covered up, Bruce put on his own outerwear. Whilst he did so the four-year-old was tripping with excitement. Naturally, this was unsurprising but it still amused him. He decided that it would be cruel to beat around the bush, so he quickly zipped up his expensive winter coat and proceeded opening the door. Before the eager boy and his adoptive father could move outside, however, two small paper bags were forced in front of their vision.

"Alfred?" Bruce said, blinking surprised.

"Your breakfast, sirs," the butler said and then handed Bruce a cup. "And coffee."

Oh yeah, the most important meal of the day and the liquor that kept Batman from falling asleep. Dick had been so eager to get him outside that Bruce had forgotten that this was kind of important. He seemed to be fairly off his game today, but he let it go. He blamed it on all this unfamiliar things Christmas had brought with; he hadn't celebrated it for many years, after all.

"Thank you, Alfred!" Dick adorably said, before once more tugging his father out the door.

The butler was left watching after them, a fond gleam in his old eyes. Meanwhile, Dick was tugging Bruce into the garden of Wayne Manor. He was jumping up and down in the snow, his hands held out toward the air. He giggled and stuck his tongue out, attempting to catch a snowflake with it.

Bruce watched the kid enjoy himself, oblivious to the worries and the slight anxiety within his adoptive father. What could he possibly give this kid that could express to a _child_ how much it meant for him that he was here? Without Dick he'd probably still be acting like a reserved, emotionless icicle.

"Hey, Daddy! Can we make a snowman?"

_That_ was definitely something he hadn't done for a _long_, _long_ time. His parents had died when he was eight. And now he was twenty-nine. That meant it had been about twenty-one years since he last played in the snow.

The word "no" was on the verge of his tongue, mostly because ever since he had lost his parents everything that meant _fun_ was something he resented. Same with anything that could give him painful memories of the past. Yet, seeing Dick's face made it impossible to even feel reluctant.

He crouched down. For the first time in years, Bruce Wayne made a snowball. And he continued to make several more, Dick helping him along as they rolled the balls of snow. The bigger they became the happier Dick seemed. He kept going on how this was going to be the biggest snowman he had ever made.

For hours, Bruce let himself play. Yes, he actually _played_. Not in the overly-how-kids-do-it way, but he spent the kind of quality time with his adoptive son that he never thought he'd ever experience. Not even when he first took Richard in; then his mind had been solely focused on making Dick's pain better.

But Dick was a bubbly child; he didn't live in the past like he did. Dick missed his parents dearly at times, but it didn't consume him. He was so young and full of life…

"Look, Alfred gave me a carrot, a hat and a scarf! And look, buttons! We can use them to make eyes!"

Bruce let his eyes sweep over the little child that held his arms up to him. The snowman was tall, white, made out of three big snowballs. His arms were made of sticks that Dick had found in the garden, buried down in the areas with lesser snow than the others. Due to the snowman's size, Bruce placed both hands on the side of Dick's torso, right underneath his armpits, and hoisted him up, pleased to hear the light giggle from the young boy.

"Wee!" Dick said happily before he trusted the carrot into the face of the snowman, successfully giving their creation a nose. Bruce, strong as he was, continued to hold Dick as he elaborately worked. He looked at it as an exercise, because even though Dick was light, he was still a human being, so naturally he started to _feel_ he was actually holding something after a little while.

"There; all done!"

Bruce once again studied the snowman. It was way better looking than his had been when he'd made one with his own dad. He smiled briefly by the memory, before reaching out and tied the scarf around the snowman's neck. Dick had yet to learn how to tie his own shoes even.

"It's the bestest snowman in the world!"

And Bruce couldn't do anything but agreeing. The young boy took his hand, gaining his full attention. "Hey, Daddy?"

"Hm?" Bruce smiled.

"Can we take a photo of him? So that I can have two pictures on my nightstand?"

"Two?"

"Yeah, the one of my first daddy and my mommy!"

Suddenly, Bruce knew _exactly_ what to give Dick for Christmas. And due to this realisation he almost forgot to answer the young boy, who was tripping to know the answer. When he said 'yes', it took about a second before Dick was gone, his feet hurriedly moving to get the camera.

Bruce on the other hand, had some different photo-business to attend.

**-o-**

When Dick went to bed that night, after a wonderful Christmas dinner with both Bruce and Alfred, he felt at peace. After a lot of struggling he had come up with what to give his adoptive father for Christmas. It had come to him a couple of days ago when he'd laid in his bed, and afterwards – with a lot of help from Alfred – he had managed to create a more than decent gift, according to his own four-year-old logic.

Currently, Bruce was carrying him up the stairs; Dick's chin resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around his strong neck. "You think Santa will find our cookies?" the little boy whispered.

With a calming feeling he couldn't really pinpoint, Bruce patted Dick's back. "Don't worry, Richard. He'll find them."

With that reassuring promise, Dick fell asleep in his bed that night. He didn't awaken before the sun crept through the dark curtains of his big bedroom. The little child slowly rose from his bed, his small hands rubbing his tired, blue eyes. He glanced at the light ray of sunlight seeping from the curtains and suddenly it dawned on him.

_Christmas_.

It was Christmas day.

Hurriedly, he crawled out of bed. He sprinted to Bruce's bedroom where he threw the door open, jumping up and down with such excitement that no one would have been able to ignore it. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" he yelled, beaming like a sun. "You gotta wake up! It's _Christmas_!"

It was surprisingly easy for Bruce to get up, but that was probably because Dick had slept a lot longer than last time. Nevertheless, he was still tired when the little boy dragged him out of bed, tugging on his bathrobe so much that he contemplated whether it would hold or not. And that was an _expensive_ garment.

The tree was standing big and proud in Wayne Manor. Dick's eyes were sparkling as he approached it, mesmerised by its glory. What was more surprising were all the gifts. Poor, young Dick had never seen so many wrapped presents at one place. His family was the best, but they hadn't been very good of economically. He threw a glance over his shoulder, his big eyes expressing his shock ever so clearly.

Bruce smiled fondly by his expression. Dick looked like he was afraid this was all a dream.

The look of shock and awe vanished quicker than Bruce had expected it too, however. Suddenly, Dick's eyes were turned to the floor. He looked small compared to the Christmas tree. Bruce, noticing the change in his boy, went up to the small kid and crouched down by his side. "What's the matter, Dick?" he asked, frowning.

"Mommy and Daddy liked Christmas trees. They would have liked this one because it's so big."

"I see," Bruce mused. He folded his big arms around the little child, embracing him tightly against his chest, both eyes set on the glimmering tree. "You know something, kid?"

"Hm?" Dick said quietly.

"We can show them; if you want, of course."

Blue eyes widened greatly hearing this. As Dick stood frozen, his small mind wondering what Bruce had meant, the billionaire went behind the tree. A big, square formed present was put before Dick. It was even bigger than the four-year-old himself.

"Open it."

"But…"

"Come on, Dick. Open it."

Bruce pushed him lightly – _encouragingly _– toward the gift. The little boy reluctantly started tearing off the paper, still confused. It didn't take long before he saw the content. A big, square-formed photo; complete with a golden frame. The photo showed his parents, Mary and John Grayson. It had been taken before Dick was born. It was an official wedding photo of the both of them. Dick remembered seeing it hanging in their van, but it was not that big then.

They were looking into the photo; both with blue, warm eyes. They held on to one another, tightly; they smiled. John's arm around Mary's back, Mary's hands around John's waist. They were such a good couple. Even Bruce had to admit so.

He felt rather ashamed to have Dick, because these people deserved this wonderful boy more than he did, but he vowed to protect their son. To always be with him and raise him as well as possible.

"They would have been proud of you, Dick," he said. "_Really_ proud."

Not sooner had the words left his mouth, before the little boy had thrown himself into the billionaire's arms. There he squeezed his eyes shut and he shakily said: "Thank you, Daddy. Now they can see the Christmas tree."

Then Dick cried. Bruce allowed him, of course. He just rocked the boy back and forth, knowing that four-year-old Richard was wondering why the world was so unfair. He was just glad the boy was as mature as he was. Other kids maybe wouldn't have been happy enough for the gift, because they wanted their parents back for real, but to Dick it meant the world.

This kid was a wonder, no doubt. He was special.

It took a while before Dick was willing to pull away and even when he did it was just to fetch Bruce's presents. The billionaire had barely time to sit down before the young child was in his lap, holding up a gift. "Here you go!" Dick smiled a bit, sniffing after such a long while with tears only. "Alfred helped me!"

Said butler was now standing behind the two, silently observing the scene.

Smiling slightly, the Batman accepted the gift. It was light.

Dick was looking a bit nervous as Bruce unwrapped it, and the nervousness continued to grow when the tall man was done. Inside lay a little pendant; it was a small black stone attached to an equally black chain. The stone was formed as a little heart, noticeably with Bat ears.

"It's a good luck charm," Dick explained smiling. "Alfred said it was a good idea. So when you're Batman it will bring good luck!"

It was such an easy gift and its purpose was even simpler, maybe naïve, but to Bruce it was the most wonderful gift he had received. He couldn't remember ever being so happy for something so small and, to many eyes, meaningless. But to him it held more meaning than anything ever could.

Therefore he took the little boy and pressed him close to him. He kissed Dick's forehead, something that was surprising to the both of them. It had been a natural reaction though. Maybe he was getting the hang of his parenting thing?

His words brought their attention elsewhere. "Thank you, Dick. It's perfect."

"Really?" The four-year-old's eyes shone brighter than ever, which was rather shocking.

"_Really_."

And the little acrobat threw his small arms around Bruce's neck, smiling happily against his adoptive father's shoulder. Bruce returned the hug; it felt easier now than it had ever been before.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy."

Bruce squeezed tighter. "Merry Christmas, Richard," he spoke.

The hug didn't relinquish. Alfred now thought it was the right time to get the sirs their breakfast before they forgot. Which was rather typical them, really.

"A Merry Christmas indeed," the old man murmured with a small smile.

* * *

><p>-o-<p>

* _Not as in the mobile phone, but as in the object, a kinetic sculpture._

-o-

Ah, can you _feel the fluff_? It's probably a bit much of it too. So sugary that I'm afraid I gave some unwanted cavities. Oh well! :3 I just felt like writing something very happy because the Christmas fic I have read lately involving Robin always has that very sad my-parents-are-dead-and-Christmas-makes-me-unhappy stuff. Of course, they usually end happily, but hopefully mine held something usual _and_ something unique. That was what I was going for anyhow; a good mix :)

Sorry for the long wait, by the way. I first promised this on Christmas Eve and then New Years. Well, here we go. I'm also planning to do something for my birthday which is the 10th of January.

I asked if people wanted to see how Dick found out Bruce was the Batman and here you go! It was during Christmas, because I thought that fit! :D

I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Let's head into 2012 with more Young Justice! :D

**Want more additions to the Child series? Do tell me so. Ideas are also welcome!**


End file.
